If Tomorrow Never Comes
by Fyrie
Summary: Spike loves the Slayer - hence, Spike gets the Valentine's Day from Hell.


Balancing his weight on his toes, blue eyes flicked over the array that decorated the surface of the hefty stone sarcophagi

Title: If Tomorrow Never Comes

Rating: Somewhere between PG-13 and R

Notes: Based on the Groudnhog Day challenge on YGTS?

Dedicated: To Joyce for the cracking challenge, which gave me my longest Buffy the Vampire Slayer fic to date. 

Balancing his weight on his toes, blue eyes flicked over the array that decorated the surface of the hefty stone sarcophagi.

There was a choice, as always.

Ten victims, just waiting to be defiled by a choice of three weapons that lay before the vampire, each tainted. He could use the one dripping blood red fluid. Red was always a delicious colour. Or there was poison ivy that decorated the second.

But - as usual - number three took his vote, simply the name of Deadly Nightshade bringing him to his final decision.

Gripping the handle tightly, he focused, focused...

Slash, slash, slash.

Nodding in silent approval, he admired his neat, master's handiwork. One down, nine left to go and he was confident he could take them all without too much mess or trouble.

Shifting the fingers of his left hand loosely around the smooth, black handle, his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth in complete concentration, as he positioned himself to take out the second.

Slash, slash...

"Bugger!"

Replacing the brush back in its place, Spike twisted the cap off the other bottle with his teeth, tearing a wad of cotton wool off the roll in his lap. Soaking it in the stinking liquid, he wiped the smear of black nail polish from the skin of his index finger.

Twenty bloody years of doing his own nails and he still always mucked up at least one. It was just so bloody unfair.

Especially when he had such an array of colours to choose from. Having acquired the blood red, ivy green and black from the red-haired witch by his 'evil and villainous ways', though, he really could only wear the black the kiddies were used to.

Red and green were hidden until the festive season...or used on the toenails alone.

Yep, life was cruel to a biteless vampire.

Reduced to being the whipping-boy to a group of stake-happy teenagers. Reduced to pinching make-up from a lesbian witch's handbag. Reduced to being in love with the person he knew he should hate more than the soddin' chip in his head.

Returning his attention back to his sparsely coated nails, tiny flecks of black polish from the previous month still flaked around the edge of his cuticle. He would have to pick the new coat to get it to the same careless, chippedness.

Honestly, looking the bad ass vampire was such an effort, these days!

Holding the brush carefully, he proceeded to start on the other nails, half-watching the TV between each one.

There was a soft tap on the door.

"Bloody hell!"

A familiar face appeared round the door. Bathing the far side of the crypt in sunlight, Anya looked around. "Spike. You have to tell me something."

"Will bugger off do?" Dabbing the sweep of black off the back of his hand with some more of his cotton wool, he glared up at her. She stood in the doorway, staring rudely at him. "Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be shagging the wanker right about now?"

"I've never seen a vampire doing his nails before." She said, stepping into the crypt and shutting the door. "Now, I need your help."

Spike snorted, digging into his pocket only to groan and pull out the hand, each neat nail smudged beyond repair. "This day just gets better and better." He muttered, bunching a ball of wool in his hand and sloshing removal lotion over his fingers.

"Stop whining. You have to pay attention to me. Isn't that what you do when someone comes to visit?"

"Whatever."

Taking that as agreement, Anya smiled brightly. "I need you to tell me which dress to wear for my date with Xander." The vampire glanced at her disdainfully from beneath his brows, scrubbing at the Deadly Nightshade varnish. Pulling two items out of her bag, she held them up for inspection. "Which one?"

"Ask the witch." Making his way to the television, he snatched a cigarette from the packet on top of it. "I don't give a damn about what you wear to make yourself more shaggable for the poofy wanker."

"But you're a man...sort of. You know what men like their girlfriends to dress up in, don't you?"

"Men? We are talking about the same person here, aren't we, luv?" Grinning at her wickedly, his blue eyes glinted devilishly.

Anya's chin jutted out in indignation, but she still didn't move for the door. "Either you tell me or I will stay here all day and tell you about the sex."

Pulling a face, Spike groped for his lighter in the back pocket of his jeans. "All right, pet. How much do I get paid for this bloody torment?"

"Paid?"

"You know, I don't do these things for the good of my health. If you don't give me money, blood or something of equal value, then I'm very sorry," He tried his best to look sincere, but failed. "You don't get help from me."

A frown wrinkled her brow. "I could paint your nails for you." She suggested. "You don't look like you're very good at it."

Looking briefly at his pale cuticles, the vampire gnawed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "Right, ducks. I help you choose a frock and you do my nails."

The former demon's face lit up. Unrolling the two bundles of material carefully, she held them both up on their hangers for the vampire to look at for her, waiting expectantly for a response.

"I think it would be better if I saw them on you, you know." He suggested mildly, dropping down on his seat. Even though he had already decided on the deep red number, he wanted to see if she would strip off in his crypt. She was a daring little chit, at times.

Shrugging, she ducked behind a pillar. Her T-shirt and skirt dropped to the floor, the length of her back bared to him. Wriggling into the pink dress first, she stepped out into his full line of sight and pirouetted.

It was all he could do to hold in a laugh. Pink, fluffy hearts on an ex-vengeance demon that was the avenger of all men's wrongs seemed a bit stupid, really.

"Let's see the other one, luv." He finally found his lighter, flicking it open as she stepped back semi-out-of-sight and quickly pulled on the deep red dress instead. The flame was dancing on the lighter, flickering against the tip of his cigarette when the girl stepped out.

Revealing, yet demure...Spike's jaw sank open, his eyes roving her body. Now, to have Buffy in that dress, looking as shy as the demon girl looked at this very moment...oh God...that would be bloody heaven on earth...

"Spike!" Anya's squeal brought him back to reality, only to find his hand playing a blazing torch, the nail polish remover erupting into blue tongues of flame.

"Bloody hell!" Falling to his feet, he spun this way and that, searching for something to put the flames out, slapping at the flaming hand frantically.

"Here!" Anya grabbed his arm and tipped a small bottle of water all over the limb, only for him to give a bellow of agony. Tripping backwards, he landed on the floor in a heap, clutching his still-smoldering hand to his body.

"You stupid bitch!" Furious golden eyes blazed up at her. "What the hell do you have Holy Water in an Evian bottle for?"

Looking at the bottle, the sandy-haired girl gave him a weak grin. "Um...should I apologise now?" Spike growled, struggling into a sitting position, turning his hand over slowly to assess the damage. "You didn't tell me."

"What?"

"Which dress."

Gritting his teeth, he glared at her. "What's so special about the bloody dress? My hand was on fire and all you can think about is that bloody frock!"

"Vampires don't celebrate Valentine's day, do they?" She said pityingly.

"Valentine's Day?" Hissing between his teeth, he grabbed one of the bottles of liquor he had snatched from the Watcher's hidden stash, snatching the cork out and splashing the liquid over the burns inflicted by both flames and Holy Water.

Raw patches of muscle were visible beneath the blistered skin, the bones of three fingers flesh-coloured and laid bare. Forcing his attention away from the pain to the girl and her ramblings, he grit his teeth.

Nodding, she broke into a spiel she had obviously been rehearsing. "It's when a couple show their love for one another, in a traditional festival, involving the giving of gifts and tokens of affection to one another." She paused. "There are also fake hearts and candy."

"Lemme guess. Giles explained it to you?" She nodded. "I know what it is. Why the big deal with the dresses, though? It can't be for a few weeks yet."

Brown eyes stared at him in disbelief. "You don't get out much, do you?" He flashed a dark look at her. "It's Valentine's Day today. This is my outfit for dinner. Xander is taking me somewhere expensive. I can't eat too much though because he said he..."

"Valentine's Day is today?" **Bugger!**

"That's what I said." Changing quickly back into her shirt and skirt, the ex-demon carefully replaced her two dresses neatly in her backpack. "Does getting burned affect your hearing?"

Spike didn't seem to hear her. He was on his knees, rooting through a small chest he had beside his seat, muttering curses under his breath. His burnt hand was pressed to his chest painfully, his eyes intently searching for something.

"So, Spike, which dress?"

"Something black, with a veil." He grated, not even looking up at her. "Long. Dark. Flat shoes and no make-up."

Shrugging, the ex-demon pulled her rucksack onto her back. "If you think that's what he would like..." There was no answer from the cursing vampire. "Thanks Spike. I'll do your nails when your hand isn't so red and blistery."

He didn't even register the door shutting. His hand had finally locked onto the thing he had been looking for - a Valentine card he had spotted weeks before. It had immediately conjured up the thought of the Slayer.

Actually, anything from a disemboweled cat to the stars could create a random thought about the feisty girl.

Sickening really.

'You slay me.'

Re-reading it, he gagged. When, he wondered absently, had he gotten so sappy? He'd never been this bad before, even when he had his ripe, wicked plum. Now, he was the most pathetic of all the pathetic undead creatures.

Gripping the top of the card between his teeth, he tore it in half.

No card for the Slayer. He would tell her himself. No daft cliches, no sickeningly sweet puns, no fluffy bunnies and hearts. It would be his own words. As soon as the sun went down, he would go and tell her.

Not that his own words were any better than the sappy ones, but at least he would have only himself to blame and not some illusive card-poet to hunt down and kill. He would do that anyway, as soon as the damn chip was out of his head.

*

Switching the telly off, shrugging into his duster, Spike winced. His hand was only half-healed and it hurt like buggery, dark wads of skin still raw and open, crusted around the edges with thick, black scabs of dried-out blood.

Cigarette dangling from his lip, he carefully pulled the sleeve over his wounded hand, cradling it against his stomach, as he headed towards the door, the scent of the night calling.

The cemetery was quiet, as usual, the light breeze rustling the leaves and grass. With the full moon shining overhead, it could have been quite romantic, if hadn't been for the bloody crickets chirping like squeaky springs in a mattress all the soddin' time.

Casting a poisonous glare in the direction of the crickets in their bushes, Spike stomped off along the paths, the pain in his right limb throbbing incessantly.

He was only out for another lot of blood. That's what he had told himself before leaving the crypt. If he hadn't needed to stock up on the O-Neg, he would have happily stayed in and watched the re-runs of any gameshows or soaps he could find.

All thoughts of talking to Buffy had seemed like a sweet idea at the time, but this was him. Big Bad. Kick-ass vampire. Evil.

Degrading himself before the Slayer had slowly twisted from a romantic gesture to being sheer stupidity, so, now, he wasn't going to tell her. She didn't deserve him. She was the dozy cow who went off and shagged his Sire.

She was bloody wonderful.

Mentally kicking himself, the vampire muttered a variety of insults at the absent Slayer under his breath, his eyes fixed on the ground. Scuffing the toes of his shoes along the path, he booted a pebble, sending it skittering along the surface.

"I hate you." He growled, thrusting his un-injured hand deep into his pocket. Snarling around the glowing cigarette between his lips, he glared down at the paved sidewalk. "You're so bloody funny and tough and incredible...why can't I just bloody hate you?"

"Uh...Spike? Talking to yourself is a sign of insanity, you know..."

"Great." Rolling his eyes, the vampire looked up at the human's face, forcing himself not to ask the teen to stake him. Looking from the tuxedoed Xander to Anya, he allowed a tiny smirk to creep onto his face. "Nice outfit. Very funereal."

The former demon was glowing with pleasure. An ankle-length black coat concealed her body, a small black cap with a veil perched on her head, her heels flat. "Just like you told me, Spike." She smiled, opening the coat to reveal a slinky black dress that was almost as sexy as the dark red one.

**Bugger!** The blonde forced a grin. "You look smashing, ducks." He cast an appraising eye over Xander. "Pity I can't say the same for you, you noncey poofter."

"And I love you too, Spike." Twining his hand through Anya's, Xander gave the vampire a surprisingly genuine smile. "Pity you don't have someone to spend tonight with, what with it being Valentine's Day and all..."

Shrugging nonchalantly, duster rising several inches, he smirked. "You mean you wish I was more of a nancy boy like you, eh?" Shaking his head, he continued. "No thanks. I'm my own man. The lone wolf and all that."

"What about Harmony?" Xander looked at him shrewdly.

"Uh..." Blue eyes flashed fire. "Well, a bloke has needs, doesn't he? And don't you two have some humping to do or something? Wasting your time buggering around with me on my night off isn't bloody fair."

The brunette's teeth glinted white in his wide grin. "Defensive, much?" The young couple moved passed the glowering vampire. Glancing back, the sympathy in Xander's eyes was unmistakable. "Try to enjoy yourself, Spike." He suggested.

Flicking the teen off, the blonde growled, stalking away along the paths. Not only had his half-hearted attempt to make Anya look stupid failed, but the most pathetic of the Slayers bum- chums was pitying him.

Unlife and Valentine's Day sucked!

*

Stroking Tara's hair, Willow smiled fondly down at her half-asleep lover. Beneath the warm night sky, the two Wicca had been sitting, looking at the stars, awaiting Giles. The waiting had gotten to Tara, so she was resting.

Now, she was lying on the bench alongside Willow, her blonde- and brown-streaked locks falling carelessly over her face, her head resting lightly in the red head's lap, her eyes half- closed.

A blur of leather roared passed them, halting several paces further along the road and turning and walking back. "Well, isn't this a cosy scene."

"Hey, Spike." Willow smiled. One of Tara's eyes opened and she nodded a greeting to the bleached vampire. "You looking for Buffy?"

Shrugging dismissively, the vampire seemed to be focusing elsewhere, his blue eyes wandering around the park around them. "Is she on patrol? I fancy kicking some demon arse before bedtime."

"I gave her the night off." Giles approached the small group, Tara sitting up immediately, rubbing her hazy eyes. "It is Valentine's Day after all. I thought she might want some time alone, since she's still...alone."

"Bloody hell, you dozy git!" The bleached demon exploded furiously. "That's the stupidest thing you could have done! Now, she'll spend the night brooding and moping and being miserable! You should've let her go kick the shit out of some demons...it'll cheer her up."

Willow nodded, reaching over to squeeze Tara's hand. "Spike's right, Giles." She agreed. "If Buffy starts brooding, she might even get that overhanging brow that Angel has from too much lurking and being miserable and lonely."

"Good Lord...do you really think so?"

All but Giles laughed. "She's playing with yer mind, Watcher." Spike patted his fellow-Englishman on the shoulder with a wry grin. "If you want, I'll go and drag the airhead out on patrol if you're busy."

"Uh...thank you, Spike." The Watcher looked somewhat lost. "I would appreciate that. Willow, Tara and I are planning on doing some spells later on, so if you need anything, you'll find us at the Lockston Cemetery."

"Righty-oh, mate." Sauntering away, leaving the two Wiccas and the Wizard as they gathered their combined number of mystical objects, spellbooks, protective necklaces and started off towards the blessed area in Lockston Cemetery.

*

"So, how's the crypt?"

Poking an annoying pink marshmallow under the thick liquid of the hot cocoa, Spike gave her a weak smile. "It's dank, dark and dull – the same as ever. Everything a penniless vampire could ever hope for, including a telly."

Joyce produced her best maternal smile. "At least you have a place of your own." She said. "I still have to share with a teenager...sometimes even two." Pouring herself some cocoa, she stared at the bubbles on the smooth surface. "It's better than hospital though."

Reaching over, he squeezed her hand. "You won't have to go back there." He tried to reassure her gently. "But the Slayer...the men in white coats'll be after her in no time at all...not all there, y'know." He tapped one fingertip significantly against his temple.

"What happened to your hand?" She gestured to the tapping finger, the underside stained dark puce with blistered skin, new tissue knitting over the revealed bone slowly, but surely.

Tilting it into the light, he made a small sound of helplessness. "Sorry mum." He replied, sheepishly, looking every bit the naughty child. "I know you told me not to play with my cigarette lighter and flammable liquids..." An everlasting klutzy teenager grinned at her from beyond those blue eyes. "Plus Anya's help and Holy Water made it worse. It should be gone by tomorrow night, though."

Joyce tutted. "Spike, you really should take more care of yourself." The Slayer's mother shook her head in disbelief, a small peal of laughter breaking from her lips. "I never thought there would be a day when I was telling a vampire to look after himself properly."

"At least you're smiling again." The blonde demon felt a sense of pleasure that - even in spite of everything she was going through - Joyce could still put a brave face on. Maybe if everyone had a mother like that, they would be semi-decent.

And he had made her smile.

Looking at the situation, he would have to agree with her laughter. A one hundred and twenty six year old vampire, sharing a cup of hot cocoa with the Slayer's mother of all people and discussing the benefits of living alone and self-help.

But he wouldn't change it for the world. Making Joyce smile, especially after that operation, was his priority. Without Buffy or Dawn's knowledge, he had been visiting regularly, looking in on and cheering up their sick mother.

And he was definitely, one-hundred-percent the biggest nancyboy vampire the world had ever seen, no doubt about it.

"What's he doing here?"

"Hi Spike!" 

Two young, female voices rang in from the door, one sounding hyperactive and lively as ever, while the other sounded grouchy and pissed as hell. He didn't even have to second-guess which was which.

Swinging around, booted feet slammed on the floor as Spike straightened up and grinned down at the Slayer. "It's smashing to see you too, ducks." One hand ruffled the younger girl's hair. "You too, shorty." The brunette giggled. "Nice to see that two out of the three lovely ladies in this house can actually still smile."

"Cut the crap, Spike."

"Buffy! Language!"

The blonde was humble enough to flush and nod at her mother. "So, Spike," Forcing a civilised note into her voice, she smiled, all teeth and silent threat. "What are you doing here? In as few words as possible, preferably."

One hand over his heart, he blinked. "Why, Slayer! I came to tell you that I'm head over heels in love with you...wanna go for a Valentine's date with me?"

Incredulity rose in her hazel eyes. "Please tell me you're joking." Spike asking her on a date. It had to be some kind of joke. He vampire, she Slayer. He wrinkled his nose for a moment, then his lip crooked in a devilish smirk. Buffy felt like sagging with laughter. "Oh, God, Spike! thought you were serious!"

"Do I look that stupid?" He spun to face Dawn and tapped her on the nose. "Don't you even think about answering that!" The brunette grinned impishly. Spike turned back to the Slayer, smiling, while his heart shattered. "So, Slayer, you up for some patrol, to keep yourself busy?"

Glancing to her mother, the blonde raised her eyes in question.

"Why not, honey? I feel better knowing you've got someone fighting with you."

*

"Are you sure it went this way?"

"Positive, Slayer! I think I know where it's going."

A brief silence was followed by the hollow thud of a stake connecting with undead flesh, echoed by the sound that resembled glass shattering. Another villainous vampire fiend halted by the indefatigable Mr. Pointy.

"So, where are they going?"

Spike's jaw locked. "Lockston Cemetery." He replied tersely. His hands curled into tight fists, eyes searching the road ahead. "Giles, Willow and Tara were doing some containment spells up there tonight."

"And?"

"That species of demon is attracted to magick or the aura of it." Exchanging a glance with the bottle-blonde Slayer, he could see she understood. "It'll be attracted to the most powerful user and then..."

"Then...?" Prompting, she grabbed his arm, dragging him into a headlong sprint alongside her.

Spike swallowed hard, running faster, the Slayer putting on another burst of speed to keep up with him. "Then," He replied, his feet pounding on the damp earth. "It pulls them inside, like a Venus Fly Trap and drains the life and the power out of them."

"But that would..."

"Kill them." He finished for her, the high gates of the cemetery up ahead. There really were far too many cemeteries in this town, Hellmouth or no bloody Hellmouth.

Ahead of them, they heard a shrill, feminine scream. Spike stiffened. Buffy caught the expression on his face, his rage and fear combined in a miasma of gold in his animalistic, demonic eyes.

"We'll get to them in time." She said, more to convince herself, their feet racing faster than either of them could imagine, bursting into a wide clearing lined with candles and incense burning.

Giles and Tara sprawled dizzily on the ground, both bloodied. Clutching her head, Tara forced herself to her knees. "Bu...Buffy? Where's Willow?" Her eyes flitted around frantically. "It-it took her...where is she?"

"This way." Spike raced in the direction of a high mausoleum, hoping that his senses were wrong. That he couldn't smell and taste what he thought. That he would just wake up and it would all be a bad dream.

Behind him, he heard the light pounding of the Slayer's feet, stumbling and catching in the overgrown, long grasses. Skidding around the corner, his hand caught the side of the chilly monument, the only thing to hold him upright.

The scaly, ebony demon was standing upright, looked more powerful, stronger than it had moments before, which could only mean one thing.

The blonde vampire felt his undead heart lurch in his chest, his fury bubbling to the surface as the demon's stomach flap dropped open, the red-haired corpse tumbling out in a crushed pulp of flesh on the ground.

"You are too late." The demon's twelve eyes glittered dangerously, high on the power that he had stolen from the young Witch. "Now, you can not stop me!"

"You're right. I can't stop you killing my friend." Spike agreed icily, his body taut, tense as a wire. "But that won't stop me from..."

The creature frowned; all twelve eyes flickering this way and that were unable to catch the motion of the vampire's preternatural speed, as it darted behind him. Sinking his claws into the beast's neck, the vampire tore through the scales and flesh.

Acrid spumes of steam erupted from the boiling innards of the demon, hissing against the vampire's injured hand agonisingly, but he tightened his grip and jerked, physically ripping the demon's head from his shoulders, acid-like blood erupting from the torn twin stumps of his throat. It bubbled and spat, burning through the vampire's clothing and into his pale skin painfully, but Spike barely felt it.

"Killing you." The vampire finished bitterly.

"Oh God..." Three heartbeats were pounding rapidly before him, the multi-eyed head dropping from his hands with a nigh-soundless thud on the grass. "Oh God...Will..."

"Is-is she okay?"

Giles moved to the clenched body that had been crushed, in the fetal position. Blood was runneling from every orifice, crushed bones protruding at all angles from the tattered scraps of skin, the red hair the only thing remaining that suggested who the corpse was. 

Bowing his head, the Watcher's tears were only the start of things to come. The Slayer and the blonde Wicca dropped to their knees beside the remains of the girl who had meant so much to them both.

Moving behind the group, Spike touched the Slayer's head, squatting down beside her "I am sorry, luv." He whispered, squeezing her shoulder. His own voice was rough. He had always liked the Witch, even in spite of the screwed up spells. "She didn't deserve it."

Lurching into his arms, she buried her face in his chest. "It's my fault." She whispered, her body trembling with wracking sobs in his arms. "I...I could have run faster...got here sooner...I could have killed it, Spike..."

"No, luv, no." Holding her close, he met Giles's sorrow-filled eyes. Tara clung to the Watcher sorrowfully, her grief matching the Slayer. "You can't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. We both know it."

"It's my fault." She whispered again and again. "It's my fault, Spike...I killed her...I killed her..."

*

Pushing the door of the crypt shut behind him, Spike slumped down against it with a low sigh of exhaustion.

He had stayed with Buffy, soothing her, trying to calm her, to convince her she wasn't to blame for Willow's death at the hands of the Nyala. Finally, she had given up, curled against his chest and cried herself to sleep.

It was the worst torture he could imagine, seeing her hurting like that, blaming herself for everything that had happened. He wished he could turn the clock back, stop it from happening at all, maybe even change things.

Even so, he knew he would hate to have another day like that. Nothing and no one could possibly ever change the arrangements of time for even a moment of happiness in the poor Slayer's tragic life.

As he fell into the oblivion of sleep, something happened.

Somewhere, somewhen, the Powers That Be gathered and had a good chuckle. A challenge had been issued and - as always - they could never turn down such an interesting and unexpected idea from the Mortal Realm.

Especially not from the only soulless demon to fall in love with the Slayer.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Sod off!"

The pounding on the door of the crypt increased in volume and intensity. Whoever was out there wasn't about to give up. Made the vampire grateful that he hadn't let Harmony fit the doorbell that played 'Livin' La Vida Loca'.

Twisting his fists into his covers, he jerked them over his head, burrowing further into the muffled darkness they provided, the drumming in his temples becoming unbearable. "Bugger off!" He yelled, pressing his eyes shut, determined to sleep some more.

A squeak.

A sensation of warmth.

Crackling.

Hot!

Hothothothothot!

Rolling out of the light, still covered, he growled in fury. Blue eyes peered out from the cocoon of darkness he had enveloped himself in, settling on his morning attacker.

Standing in the blaze of brilliant golden light that flooded in through the door, the girl crossed her arms over her chest. "You should have answered the door." She said bluntly.

"Just cos I wanted some bloody privacy?" Grunting in disgust, the blanket dropped from his shoulders, his attention moving to the soles of his feet. "Bloody hell! Yesterday you burn the bloody skin off my hand...today, it's my feet. What did I ever do to you?"

Anya frowned. "What are you talking about, Spike? I didn't see you yesterday."

"You did!" Incredulous, he stared up at her. "You came here...at the same time as you did this morning...something about a frock for a date...wait a minute...what the hell are you doing here? Again? Didn't you hear what I said about the frock?"

"That's what I came to see you about...wait...you knew I was coming about a dress? Have you been having Buffy's weird dreams?" The former-demon's lips puckered in a frown of puzzlement. "You had a dream about me?" Spike shrugged, brushing some dirt off his bare feet. "Um...was it an orgasm dream?"

Spike lifted his head, an amused expression crossing his face briefly, recalling the only character that had featured in his 'orgasm dreams' of late. She was blonder and tougher and Slayer-ier than Anya, that was for sure.

"You wanted me to choose a frock for you to wear on your date, luv. It was as simple as that." He chuckled. "Does that mean today is Valentine's Day?" If it was, it meant that the previous day had all been some crazy, twisted dream and that Willow hadn't died and Buffy hadn't laughed in his face.

"Yes. Xander is taking me to a..."

"I think you should dress up as a cartoon character." Her dainty nose crinkled in confusion. "He likes cartoons, so why not dress up as one, for him...say...er...Donald Duck?" Brown eyes gazed at him sceptically. "Okay, okay, Minnie Mouse...take yer bloody pick."

Pouting, the ex-demon turned on heel. "You're no help." She grumbled, stalking back out into the sun-lit cemetery.

"That's cos I'm a vampire, luv!" He called after her, laughing. "I'm not meant to be helpful."

Ambling over to shut the door, he pushed it shut. Pausing, he looked at his right hand. It was completely healed, as if nothing had happened to it, right down to the crusts of age-old nail polish around the edges of his bitten nails.

For that wound to be gone, for it to be Valentine's Day again, it all had to have been a dream or something weird. Maybe Anya was right. Maybe the Slayer's prophetic dreams were contagious. Whatever it was, it had seemed so bloody real. 

And painful.

Settling down in front of the telly, he fiddled with the tuning, ready to watch what he had missed in the dream, thanks to the dozy demon girl. Maybe unlife wasn't quite so bad after all. And he still had to go and pay a visit to Buffy, maybe cheer her up before telling her.

Her reaction had only been a dream one and she had been cranky in it, so this time, he would make sure he got her under different circumstances.

But only after Double Jeopardy.

*

After passing Xander and Anya in the park, insulting the girl's hideous, fuzzy pink number and getting a sock in the jaw from a defensive brunette human, Spike reached the bench where Willow and Tara had been in his dream.

And bingo!

There they were again, both sitting upright and gazing up at the wide, open expanse of starry sky high above their heads, the moonlight playing softly over the gentle, feminine planes of their faces. Red had never looked better, especially after her gory end in that bloody horrible dream.

"Ello, pets." Sauntering up behind them, he poked his head between them. "Whatcha doing? Up to mischief as usual, no doubt."

Rolling onto her side, Tara lay back, her head resting in her lover's lap. "You're n-not going to make me embarrassed again." She half-smiled nervously up at the bleached vampire, who raised his eyebrows.

"Me?" The image of her lying there brought back a surge of memories of the dream, a twist of fear churning his guts. "Would I do that, luv?"

"I think the better question is wouldn't you do that, Spike." Willow's eyes danced with mischief, raising her can of Dr Pepper to her lips.

"This is what I would do..." Lunging forward, he ran his cool tongue up the curve of the red head's ear. Grinning, he clucked in mock disapproval as her drink sprayed out of both her nose and mouth. "That wasn't very ladylike!" He chastised, winking at the giggling Tara.

Coughing, green eyes blazed fury at him, only to melt into laughter at the vampire's feigned innocence. "You really are a pig, Spike." She wiped her chin with the end of her sleeve, the tingling of the bubbles in her nose making her eyes water.

"Wh-what has he done now?" Giles voice interrupted the laughter of both vampire and blonde Wicca. The Watcher approached awkwardly, his arms cradling a chest lined with strange symbols. "And why are you here, Spike."

Straightening up, he poked his hands into his pockets. "I'm gonna drag the Slayer out on patrol." He replied. "I'm bored and she shouldn't have the most romantic night of the year alone, when she could well be battering the crap out of demons with me."

"Are you absolutely certain that's a good idea?" Frowning, the Englishman pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Would you wanna stay in, moping, if your main shagtoy had upped and left?" Spike could see the Watcher mulling over it. "I get the feeling you're the wrong guy to ask about that." He paused, then added. "I've heard there's a Nyala on the loose. We'll need the Slayer if it's true." It may have just been a dream, but there were too many coincidences going on now for him to ignore it.

"A single Nyala?"

"So I heard."

Giles nodded distractedly. "Right...good...you go and fetch Buffy. Try and track down the Nyala. If you find anything, we'll be at..."

"Lockston Cemetery. Right. Gotcha." Pivoting the vampire melted away with a swirl of his dark duster, leaving the trio staring after him in confusion.

"I didn't tell him that we were going to be a-at Lockston, did I?" Giles looked to the two girls for confirmation, seeing his own bafflement mirrored in their faces. "That vampire is rather strange, wouldn't you say?"

The two Wicca exchanged grins. "Definitely."

*

Tap.

Frowning, Buffy looked to the open door then turned her attention back to her hair, sliding another pin in to hold back a loose lock. Whistling in time with the song on the radio, she bounced on the balls of her feet lightly.

Tap, tap.

Nothing.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap...

"Slayer! Hey! Lemme in!"

Hazel eyes flicked to the locked windows. Beyond the smirr of the lacy curtains, she could easily spot the familiar bleached head against the dark of the night and the shadows behind the figure sitting there.

Gripping a stake between her teeth, both hands trying to position the final grip in her hair, she made her way across to the ledge, pushing the drapes aside with one elbow. Grinning around the stake, she batted her eyes and muffledly enquired. "Yeah?"

"Lemme in!"

Removing the wooden weapon from her mouth, she twisted it in her hands. "Gimme a reason...and not that you're here to sniff my clothes." She could almost swear the vampire flushed, but he still had the good grace to flash a glare at her.

"I have a bloody twig sticking up my bum and if you don't lemme in, I'll run to your mum and tell her you put it there and make you pull it out." Pulling her best-disgusted face to hide the amusement she always felt around the vampire, she sighed.

"Wuss." Pulling the window wide, she gestured him in, returning to her desk to stock up on weapons. "So, why not just use the doors, like you usually do? Felt like playing the sycophant stalker, did you?"

Grimacing at her, the vampire picked leaves from his hair. "Big words, Slayer." She flashed a 'Don't piss me off' glare in his direction. "Actually, there was...something kind of personal I wanted to talk to you about..."

"Trouble in Harm-land?" She smirked.

"Don't get me started on the dozy bitch." He sighed, inking down on the edge of the bed. "It was about you, actually."

"You want to go on about Riley again?" The familiar sadness rose in her eyes, followed by the usual surge of anger. "Look, I don't want to talk about him, so if it's about that, then you can just leave right now..."

"I love you."

"Because I don't want to he...wh-what?"

"Er..." The vampire shifted awkwardly. "I love you, Sl...er...Buffy." She blinked once, twice, wet her lips, stared at him. "Slayer?"

Her startled hazel eyes rolled back in her head, her body pitching over backwards in a heap on the carpet with a thump loud enough to draw Dawn from her room. Finding Spike kneeling over her sister's unconscious body drew a chuckle from the girl.

"So you finally told her how you felt about her?" The teenager grinned. Spike patted Buffy's cheek, not even giving her a cold glare. "And she fainted?"

"Sod off, Dawn." He grated.

"Well," Crossing her arms, her grin widened. "At least she didn't stake you."

*

All he had seen since they had left her house had been her back. She hadn't said a word to him, but the glares of fury, confusion and bemusement saying more than she really needed to with words.

Directing her towards the Lockston Cemetery, he trotted dutifully after her like an obedient puppy, his mental kicking becoming a full-blown, batter-the-undead-crap-out-of-yerself session...and it didn't even make him feel better.

The scene in Lockston Cemetery was the same as he had 'dreamed'. No sign of Willow, the Wicca and Watcher both lying half-conscious on the ground, bleeding and disorientated once again.

"This is your fault." Buffy grated, as they rounded the crypt. Once again, Spike was grateful that he hadn't told her what the demon was about to do. He wanted her still be able to fight. The bastard had almost killed him in the dream with that acidic blood. 

"My fault? How? You're the one that bloody well fainted!"

"If you hadn't said..." Her voice trailed off as they came face-to-face with the Nyala, all colour draining from her cheeks. The stomach flap dropped open and Spike pressed his eyes shut. Not again! Not a-bloody-gain! "S-Spike?"

Minutes, hours passed in a blur until he was once again stumbling into his crypt, soaked with demon blood, his skin burned where the acid had eaten through the leather of his duster and his shirt damp with the tears of the Slayer.

Flopping onto the heap of his blankets in the corner of, he pulled the blanket over his head with a low groan. "Whoever sent me that bloody dream," He muttered darkly. "If I get my hands on 'em, I'll tear them limb from bloody limb."

Once again, there was mass hysteria in the ranks of the PTB as the vampire drifted off into dreamland.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Spike?" Something prodded at him, the scent of morning filtering slowly through the puffs of material that swathed around his head, concealing his face. The poker poked that little bit harder, a digit jabbing him in the eye.

With a groan of pain, the half-asleep vampire pulled his shelter down and looked up at his wake up call. "If you're here to tell me that Willow's dead," He muttered, rubbing his stiff neck. "I already know."

"Willow's not dead." Anya frowned at him. "You are weird, Spike, but I need you to tell me what to..."

The mask of blanket was jerked back over the vampire's head and the former demon was convinced she heard a muffled, strangely girly screech issuing from beneath the heap of material and fluffy covers.

Then the vampire was smiling up at her again, looking strangely demented. "So, you want me to help you choose a fancy frock for lover boy, eh?" She nodded, returning his smile and trying to make her own look as crazed as his. "Great. Just bloody marvelous. The worst bloody day of my unlife. Again."

"If you don't want to help..." Her lower lip quivered, a trick she had found very efficient for getting gifts and lots of sex from Xander.

"I'd rather go for a walk at noon, across a path of crosses, while it rained Holy Water." The psychotic grin never faded from the vampire's face, his folded legs straightening out. Wagging his toes from side to side, he watched the motion. 

"So you won't help me?"

"Do I look interested in what the Boy-Wanker's ex-demon wears?" Looking down at his body, his position, he tilted his head quizzically. "Hmm...somehow...I went from there and fully dressed - " He pointed to the corner, ignoring the pathetic snuffles of the demon girl. "To here and half-dressed..."

By the time he had figured out everything that had changed around since he fell asleep the night before, Anya had fled, in tears. Probably going to tell dear widdle Xander that the big bad vampire had been mean to her.

Grinning, he grabbed his duster. 

As long as he was going to screw up this day, for the third time, he might as well do it right and make himself look stupid properly.

How hard could it be?

*

"Mornin' Slayer. Ello shorty."

The two girls stopped short, both mouths gaping. The vampire leered at them, one hand on his hip, his other toying with the feather boa that hung around his neck.

"Uh...Spike...my underwear...you..." Blinking repeatedly, the Slayer looked like she had a severe tic in both eyes. Clearing her throat, she tried to brush the image aside, gruffly demanding. "What the hell are you doing here and why are you wearing my underwear?"

The bleach blonde looked down at himself, then back at her, a comic expression on his rouged cheeks. Slapping his hands up to his cheeks, he made a perfect 'O' with his lips, eyes wide as badly-mascara-lined saucers.

"I thought this was my underwear!" Reaching for the knickers, he moved to quickly pull them off. "Well, pet, if you want them back..."

"No!" Covering Dawn's eyes with one hand, Buffy's voice rose vehemently. Her sister giggled, trying to push the elder girl's hand aside, leaning this way and that to see the strip show going on in her sister's room. "Have you gone nuts, Spike?"

Ignoring her, he moved into a closet, emerging a few minutes later, clad in his own clothes, flashing a small smile at Dawn. "Just wanted to cheer you up, ducks." He said quietly, picking his duster off the bed.

"You're crazy." Glaring furiously at him, she fought every urge to stake the bleached freak.

He shrugged, toying with the lace of the bra. "If being in love with the Slayer is crazy, then I'm one hundred percent loony, luv."

"Being...in love with the Slayer?" Forcibly pushing the brunette girl from the room, the blonde shut the door and locked it, turning to face her one-time nemesis. "What kinda stunt are you trying to pull here?" Her eyes were filling with tears. "After Riley, you pull this crap..."

Turning away from her, Spike bit the inside of his lip furiously. No more tears. Not again. Not now, when he knew what would follow later, if he didn't get himself done in already. "It's not a stunt, you stupid cow." He forced out bitterly. "I don't know why or how or when, but I bloody well love you."

"And you expected what? Me to jump into your arms and say you're my knight in shining armour?" Her small hand on his arm whipped him round. The fire in those hazel orbs sent a roar of lust through his body. "You're just a demon, Spike, a monster. You kill, you torture...for fun! You expect us to walk off into the sunset, just because you *think* you have feelings for me? Oh no, you can't. It would be the Mister and Mrs Big-Pile-of-Dust scenario, wouldn't it?"

Swallowing hard, he felt the stinging sensation of tears prickling behind his eyes. "I don't think these feelings, Buffy." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I know when I love someone, even when I want to hate them."

"And that makes it all right? You're still a demon, Spike. Beneath me." Her breathing was erratic, symbolic of her rage. "I don't want you. I could never want you. You're nothing to me, you hear? Nothing!"

Tears of anger and pain coursed down her cheeks and - more than anything - Spike wanted to brush them away, as he had the previous night. Setting his jaw, he forced his trembling hands still, blinking to force his own tears back.

For a long moment, they stood, silent, regarding one another. Buffy's contempt and obvious disgust for him made him wish he had just waited until that evening. He knew the reaction he would get then, but now...

Now, she hated him, despised him.

"Buffy...I...I'm sorry..." He reached out to touch her arm. She snatched it away, eyes cold.

"Leave. Now." Crisp and commanding. None of the fun-loving, hyperactive Slayer he'd come to adore.

This Buffy, he couldn't disobey. Gathering his jacket, lighter and cigarettes from the floor, he climbed out the window without so much as a backward glance, dropping off the roof and racing for the tunnels.

He never saw her drop onto her bed and bury her face in her arms, sobbing the tattered remains of her heart and soul out, the hurt of her last love still too close to the surface for anyone to even get near.

*

Flat on his back on the dirt floor, the ball rose and fell with a steady rhythm. Tossing and catching, Spike paused to glance at his watch with a low sigh before returning his attention to the small leather ball.

Red would be dead by now.

As of ten minutes ago, if he got his timing right. No doubt, the Slayer - no longer called by her first name - would have butchered the Nyala demon easily in her rage and fury that she had been sporting earlier that day.

Toss.

Catch.

Toss. 

Catch.

Toss.

Catch. 

"Stupid bitch." Toss. Catch. "You didn't have to be so bloody harsh." Toss. Catch. "Why can't I just hate you?" Toss. Catch. "This bloody love thing buggers everything." Sitting up, the ball dropped to the floor with a soft thump. "I'm sorry, luv..."

"You...you don't need to be..."

Whipping around, the vampire's mouth straightened into a tense line. "Slayer."

"It...it was horrible...so much blood..." Tears were leaking from her eyes, arms crossed over her chest, shaky hands rubbing uneasily up and down her upper arms. "I tried...we fought and he...he...I thought I could...but Will..." Those lost, appealing hazel eyes locked on his desperately. "Willow's...she...oh God..." Her knees buckled, but Spike was by her side in time to catch her.

Arm around her, he pulled her close, both of them sinking to the rough floor. What had he been thinking? Leaving the poor kid to face that bloody demon on her own? 

Her own blood's scent reached him, mingled with the splashes of Willow's blood combined with demon-ichor. "It's not your fault, princess." He stroked her hair tenderly, drawing her onto his lap like a baby. "You can't blame yourself..."

Cursing the powers that had found it amusing for him to be trapped in the worst Valentine's Day ever, he rocked the sobbing Slayer, holding her close and soothing her until the sobs subsided and she fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

Walking through the deserted streets of Sunnydale with the girl he loved cradled protectively in his arms, he reached her home without trouble, knocking quietly on the door and carrying her swiftly passed Joyce and Giles.

Laying her in her bed, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Hopefully, tomorrow, none of this will have happened." He whispered, before turning and walking out. His crypt and a new day were waiting...maybe.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Opening one eye, he peered through a crack in the blankets, rolling off his bed to land with a solid thump on the hard floor.

Appropriate really. 

He hadn't hurt himself in two whole Valentine's Days. 

Cursing the bugger who invented toes, convinced the only reason they existed was for the purpose of being stubbed painfully against a useless coffin, the blonde vampire shuffled over to the television, rubbing a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

Sitting down to watch the 'All New' Double Jeopardy, he scratched his neck, groping for a packet of cigarettes with his free hand. Nicotine and blood were the perfect things to wake up to in the morning.

Several minutes after the credits, Spike cocked his head, blowing out a feather of smoke, a crumble of ash dropping to the floor. "Five, four, three, two and..."

"Spike?"

"Yeah, ducks?"

"Can I ask...?"

"The pink one, ducks."

"How did you..."

"I'm psychic..or is it psychotic?" He nibbled his thumbnail pensively. "One of them. Can never bloody remember which..."

"So the pink one..."

"Just take a bleeding hint and go."

There was a moment's silence. "Thank you...I think." then the door shut, discreetly, leaving the vampire to watch the same game show he had half-watched on and off for the last three Valentine's Days.

Another fine day to make a bloody pillock of himself. Now, how, he mused, would he be able to get his point across without having the precious blonde baby weeping and wailing all over him or passing out...

*

"It's four in the afternoon. Do I want to know what you're doing here?"

Shrugging, the black-clad vampire stepped across the thresh hold and pushed the door shut, dropping his tatty shield-blanket. "I could say I vant to suck your blood, but I think its been done before a few too many times."

"Uh...huh..."

"Got a phone?"

Her brows came together in a frown. "Huh?"

"A tel-ee-fone." Fighting back a weak grin, he continued. "It's a method of communication. You talk in one end and someone on the other end listens. Lots of wires and cables are involved. And they are very popular among teenage girls, I hear."

"I know what I telephone is, you stupid pillock."

Raising an eyebrow at her choice of language, the vampire smirked. "May I use it? And could you listen in...very important stuff...you'll find out I'm a millionaire and immediately want to shag me senseless..."

"I'll listen." She agreed mildly, then wagged a finger at him. "But no shagging." Spike nodded, waiting for the question he knew was coming. "Are you really a millionaire?"

Tapping one finger against the side of his nose mysteriously, he grabbed the receiver and dialed the number, his fingertips drumming impatiently on the surface of the island in the middle of the kitchen while he waited to be connected.

"Angel Investigations. We help the hopeless."

"Cordelia?" Buffy mouthed in confusion. Spike shook his head.

Clearing his throat, he spoke. "Allo luv. Be a sweetheart and put the dark poofini on, will ya?"

"Spike?" The cheerleader hazarded uneasily.

"Got it in one...now, Soulboy, if you don't mind." The blonde pursed his lips, eyes roaming the familiar kitchen, as he listened to the urgent, muffled conversation, exhaling as he heard the phone change hands. "Afternoon, Angelus. How is sunny LA this fine day?"

A soft growl rippled down the phone. "Cut the crap, Spike." Yup, Angel was in one hell of a pissy mood. Spike was jubilant. This was gonna be bloody priceless. Suicidal too, but what did it matter, if he had fun?

"What? No 'Its nice to hear from you' or anything?" Feigning a sob, the blonde caught Buffy glaring at him. "Anyway, here's the deal, old man. I thought I better phone you and tell you what has been happening in Sunnyhell in your...absence."

A long pause and a growl. In the background, he heard Cordelia yell something at his Sire about not vamping out in front of customers, then the sound of a door slamming. That cheerleader may have been a bit thick, but she was bloody hilarious from time to time.

Waiting as long as he dared, he beckoned Buffy closer. "I just wanted you to be the first to know," He remarked. "I'm in love...with your ex..."

The roar of fury down the phone line was deafening. A muffled snort of laughter escaped the younger vampire, his eyes flitting to Buffy's surprised ones. Then she completely knocked him for six, doing something he never expected.

She doubled over and started to laugh. Not just the occasional sad chuckle she had been giving out since Riley skipped out on her, but full-force, gut-wrenching, sidesplitting laughter, her face turning a peculiar shade of crimson.

"Um...Angel...mate...she's gone a funny colour..." The blonde on the phone blinked at her. "Is that normal? What do you mean was I joking? Of course I wasn't bloody well joking, you noncy wanker!...oh yeah?...I'd like to see you try it..." He looked to Buffy. "He says you're to take a stake and...what was that again?...I can't say that!"

Buffy's hands slapped down on the work surface, shattering the wood with the force of her mirth, her whole body shaking with laughter. Tears poured down her cheeks as she clutched at her aching sides.

"Gotta run, Shadow." The phone smacked down and the blonde cautiously approached the giggling Slayer. "Er...pet?" Dancing hazel eyes glanced briefly at him, crinkling with even more laughter. "Are you okay? You haven't been at the...er...sugar again, have you?"

Shuddering gasps ripped through her, as she tried to straighten up. "Sore..." She wheezed, her smile dazzling. For the first time in weeks she had smiled and he still couldn't figure out why on earth she had gone fruit-loopy.

"Not surprised, ducks." Helping her onto the stool, he could feel another tremor of giggles run through her. Hopefully, though, she would calm down before they headed out on patrol, maybe in time to save Willow this time.

Between demented chuckles, she managed to look and him and say - reasonably understandably - "Thanks, Spike."

Wasn't *quite* the reaction he was hoping for, but hey. She had smiled, laughed and was in pain from her giggle fits. On top of that, his Souled Nemesis was pissed to high heaven about his revelation.

So far, this Valentine's Day looked like it was going quite well.

*

"What the hell was that?" One arm around his shoulder, the Slayer's right ankle went out from beneath her, gushing thick, dark blood on the damp grass. Propelling her onward, she was grateful for her blonde, undead crutch.

Spike seemed distracted. "A Nyala Demon." He replied tautly, a dark expression on his face. "We won't get there in time...it's too bloody fast."

"Get where? In time for what?" Wincing, her limp foot scuffed along the ground. "Spike, what's the hurry?"

The anxiety in the bleach blonde's eyes mirrored that of Giles when some unforeseen threat had appeared on the Hellmouth. "It'll kill your chums." He said hollowly. "It feeds off magick users and guess where Watcher and his Witches are?"

Buffy looked up at the gateway they were hurrying towards, colour rushing from her cheeks as she realised the implication of his words. "In there?"

Nodding, the vampire was practically carrying her, as they moved as fast she could go, only to arrive to find Tara and Giles unconscious, bloody and battered on the candle-strewn ground, the boundaries of their protective circle shattered.

Releasing his bruising grip on the Slayer's waist, the anger on the vampire's face rose in ridges and fangs. "Not again! Not a-fucking-gain!"

*

Another bloody marvelous evening of watching the Slayer crying. This was getting bloody agonizing, seeing her like that and not being able to do a sodding thing.

Time for a nice experiment, to see how long this stupid 'day' would go on for. Time to see if watching a sunrise from behind the Mansion would leave him a pile of dust, or waking up in the crypt for Anya's routine fashion show.

Plopping down on a rock, his duster pulled over his knees, he stared intently towards the East, his head resting in his hands, elbows propped on his knees.

He knew which he would prefer.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

One hand slithered out from beneath the camouflage of the blankets, groping around and locking onto the chilly surface of something tall, slim, smooth and glass-like.

Said hand then swung in a graceful arc, aforementioned glassy object pinwheeling through the air in a smooth curve to shatter above the door, showering the intruder with shards of glass and the scent of stale alcohol.

Smirking out of sight, he relished the shrieks that emerged from his usual visitor...but only until a burst of pain erupted behind his eyes. "Bloody hell! What did I do? I didn't deliberately hurt anyone, did I?"

Rising into a sitting position, he glowered at the girl. She was whining, picking bits of glass out of her hair and face, several miniscule cuts open on her cheeks. "You made me bleed!" She exclaimed indignantly. "I didn't do anything to you and you made me bleed!"

Rubbing his head sleepily, his lips rose in a devilish sneer. "You know, pet, you are a wimp." She started to object, but he ignored her, swinging off his bed and stretching. "You also have bloody awful taste in blokes...not many chits are stupid enough not to see that their bloke is gay."

"Xander's not gay!" Dark eyebrows rose in amusement. "We have sex! Gay men don't have sex with girlfriends."

"Unless they don't have a boyfriend. Then they take anything they can get..." He stepped closer, smirking cruelly. "And that's what Xander is doing. He doesn't have a boyfriend and just says you're his girlfriend to shut you up and get a good shag now and then."

"You're lying!"

Spreading his hands, the vampire inclined his head. "If that makes you feel better." He flashed a wicked smile at her. "But why would I? After all, the truth is just so much fun..." He ran his fingers down her cheek. "Even a former demon like yourself can see that, surely."

"You're just trying to make me hurt Xander." Pulling away, she glared at him. Briefly he wondered what she was like in her glory days. She must have been one helluva demon, in her time. "I'll go and tell him what you've said, right now."

"You do that, luv." Leaning against one of the elaborately carved columns, he oozed pure villainy for the first time in months. The last few days had been driving him nuts and now, he just wanted to piss about.

The minute the ex-demon ran, he snatched up his duster and headed out into the day, determined to screw with the Watcher's mind. That was a treat he hadn't had for...oh, it had to be months now.

*

Turning page after musty page, bespectacled eyes moved over each line of decorative latin script, lips silently following the words.

"Do you ever do anything vaguely exciting?"

The Watcher's head jerked up, eyes flicking anxiously this way and that to settle on the figure standing in the open doorway, scraps of a tattered blanket shielding him from the midday sun. "Spike." Turning his attention back to his books, he exhaled. "What do you want?"

The cigarette in the vampire's hand twisted from finger to finger, his blue eyes settling on the Englishman's bowed head. "Just had to drop by and see you, Rupert." There was no response from the bookish man. "You're so bloody sexy when you concentrate."

Even as he said it, the vampire muffled a snort of laughter with a cough. Stalking around the table, he leaned over the other man's shoulder, a wicked little grin on his lips.

From his vantage point, he completely missed the dark look that filtered into the apparently quiet man's eyes. The vampire had never heard the rumours or 'legends' of the man who had once been called Ripper.

That was soon to change as Giles slowly turned in his seat. He was delighted to let his wicked alter ego come to the surface to give the vampire an introductory course on just why the Slayer didn't piss him off.

Straightening up, his nose barely millimeters from the vampire's, he propped one elbow on the table, lifting his glasses off with his other hand and carelessly depositing them on his lap. "Is that so?"

Spike's lips curved up in a predatory smirk, wondering how far he could take the taunting of this dopey, boring old man. "I would think so." He managed a brief, girlish "Eep!" as Giles' hand snagged the front of his T-shirt, jerking him down.

"I reciprocate." The Englishman's leer sent a shiver of surprise scooting down the vampire's spine, before he was able to actually grasp the fact he was being frenched by a tweed-rejecting former Watcher.

Almost tripping over his own feet, Spike fell, sprawling unceremoniously on the floor, hacking and spitting. Scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand, he stared at the Watcher in astonishment. "Bloody hell! What the hell are you playing at?"

Replacing his glasses as if nothing had happened, the other man turned back to his books, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Can't face being played at your own game, eh?"

Scrambling to his feet, drifting between disgust and admiration for his fellow Englishman, the bleached vampire tugged at the lapels of his duster, straightening the long jacket. Bending, he retrieved his cigarette and blanket. "I'm off then." 

"Have a nice day, luv." There was no mistaking the impish grin Ripper flashed at the peroxide demon, only to receive a crude gesture and snarl of disgust in return.

*

"Would you just leave me alone?"

"Not a chance of it, pet."

"What do you want now?"

Sitting down on the sofa beside her, the vampire draped his arms along the back of the couch, making himself look as conspicuous as possible. "Well, here's the deal, Slayer." He traced patterns on the fabric. "It's Valentine's Day."

"And?"

Using his speed to his advantage, he had her in his arms in a heart beat, doing what he had wanted to do for months, only for the kiss to be cut of by a stab of pain just inches below his sternum.

Drawing back, he looked from her face, down to his torso. So that's what a real stake in the ribs felt like. "Love you." He managed to get out, before he felt himself crumbling into a heap of dust, his last thought lingering in the air.

**That tickled!**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Here we go again..."

"Spike?"

"Anya."

"Who were you talking to?"

Sipping some of the blood from the cooler in his latest novelty mug, he flashed a small smile at her. "No one, pet. Now, what did you want? A recommendation of a blood type? A good way to kill your wanker? Anywhere close?"

"No." She looked offended. "I want you to help me choose a dress for my date."

Under his non-existent breath, a bored mutter escaped. "Why am I not surprised?" Clearing his throat again, he faked a grin. "So, pet, show me your best."

Once again, the deep red rivaled the frilly pink and once again, he selected the pink, advising her to add little pigtails tied with pink ribbon for maximum effect. Her dazzlingly gullible smile was repeated when he ran into her and her lover on the way to the park, that evening.

After a day in the crypt, with only liquor and depressing thoughts for company, he was suitably sloshed out of his senses, tottering along the paths and tunelessly crooning 'My Way' to anyone or anything that would listen.

Telling her she looked like a big, fluffy pink teddy bear and spilling half a bottle of Jack Daniels down the front of Xander's tux was only forgiven when he burst into tears and told both the human and former demon that he loved them.

Staggering off, ignoring their despairing looks, he'd fallen over the back of the bench, only to land in Tara's lap.

"Ewwo, pwet." A mouthful of skirt bunched in his mouth muffled his words.

He looked up to see the red head roll her eyes. Obviously, she remembered the last time she had seen him drunk. "Spike, has anyone ever told you that you should lay off the booze?"

Nodding, he carelessly pushed Tara aside and shuffled his derriere between the two girls. "Lossa people 'ave." He repeatedly fuzzily, raising hi hand to stroke her hair as he had when he held her prisoner in the basement. "Never listened...Red...choo gotta do a spell...a luf spell..."

"I can't get Dru back, Spike, you know th..."

"No!" Emphatically leaning towards her, he wagged a finger in her face. "S'not Dru...I wants me a Slayer..." A dreamy look crossed his face. "Bloody 'ell...she's so bleedin' bee-oo-ti-ful! I want 'er to luf me..."

"You're very drunk, Spike." Willow's concern was obvious. "Why don't you go and...lie down until you sober up a bit. Then we can talk, okay?" She patted his hand gently. "I think it would be better if you went and slept it off."

Blinking at her, he pursed his lips, his brow furrowed, in thought. "Right...sleep...I go and sleep. Tell Slayer I luf her..."

"Right, Spike."

As the drunken vampire ambled off, bleary eyed and heavy-footed, Tara cast a confused look at her lover. "What was that about?"

"If he said what I think he said, he's the second Vampire to fall in love with Buffy." **I just hope he hasn't tried to tell her...**

*

"Slayer! Lemme in! Lemme in!"

Back against the front door, trying futilely to ignore the incessant pounding of a drunken peroxide vampire, the girl called through the wood. "Give me one good reason and I'll talk to you, okay?"

A moment's pause. "Er...I dun wanna come in, Slayer...jus' wanna talk..."

The door opened a fraction, a pair of suspicious hazel eyes gleaming in the light of the porch. "Okay. Talk, then."

Swaying on his feet, trying to focus on her, the vampire supported himself with a hand against the doorframe. "I luf you."

A smooth feminine brow furrowed. "Huh?"

"I..." Slapping a fist proudly against his chest, he jutted his chin. "Luf...You." One shaky finger pointed in her direction. "Spike lufs Slayer! Spike lufs Slayer!" A shy, sleepy, drunken grin. "I jus' luf you."

"You're drunk. It's the drink talking." The door squeaked open a little more, her slight figure silhouetted by the light beaming from inside the house. He blinked at her in bewilderment. "I think you should just go, Spike."

"Nuh-uh." A vehement no was affirmed when he dropped down, on his rear on the floor. "I'll sit guard for you. Stop the nasty bad vampires comin' for you. I'll be your speshul guard an' protect you from 'em all..."

The Slayer's mouth tightened into a steely line. "I know you're drunk." She spoke coldly, standing over him, magnificently dangerous, deadly and downright sexy. "So, I wouldn't normally do this, but...this is a special occasion."

Her fist connected with his chin, flooring the completely drunk vampire. He blinked twice, grinned, then dropped into unconsciousness. Turning on heel, the Slayer went back into the house and curled up to watch a film with her mother and sister.

Left on the porch, Spike groaned as he finally crawled out of black unconsciousness, his head throbbing insanely, aggravatingly. 

Half sitting, half-sprawled on the floor, he got as far as wiggling his toes. He could still move. No broken neck, spine or organ dropped on his body. That was a good sign, at least and he still had time to get Buffy to the...

"Is Buffy in?" A bloody, tear-stained Giles stared down at him, a crude bandage swathed around his right arm, glasses missing and clothing torn.

Nodding towards the door, Spike risked a glance at his watch. Bloody great. Late again. He picked his boneless body off the floor, the door opening behind him, as he lumbered down the steps to the path.

The grinning maw of the door cast elongating beams of light after him, his shadow lengthening as he distanced himself from the house, knowing the news that the Watcher was about to deliver to her.

No tears today.

He couldn't deal with it again.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Spiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike!"

Grinning down at the girl dipped over his knee, Spike tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Anya! And how are you on this absolutely bloody glorious Valentine's Day? Killed anyone? Maimed? Anything vaguely violent? Fancying going and shooting the whelp for me? Yes? Marvelous! I really appreciate it and I would happily shag your brains out if you..."

"What are you doing?" Wriggling in his grip, she squealed as he tightened his hold, eyes dancing with mischief.

"What am I doing?" Biting down on the tip of his finger, he pulled a goofy face. "I think it's safe to say I've gone nuts, pet! Stock, raving barmy with a bloody great big cherry on top for good measure."

"Huh?"

"This is my seventh sodding Valentine's Day this week!" The girl's eyebrow arched cynically over baffled brown eyes. "I've done this day already! I know why you're here, where you're going, what you'll do! I know where different people are at different times of the day...dammit, I've even been staked for trying to snog the bloody Slayer!"

"Are you...drunk, Spike?"

Shaking his head, he pulled her upright, staring wildly at her. "No! I should be! I finished every bottle of alcohol I had and then some and I'm still bloody sober! I was pissed as a fart last night and look at me! Bright eyed and bushy tailed, like a fucking squirrel!"

"I'm going to go now." Pulling away from him, she backed towards the door. "I think you've been undead and chipped too long..."

"Probably, but please can you tell the Watcher? Please? I can't be arsed going out today, unless I want to do something bloody ridiculous."

"Uh huh...whatever you say, Spike. I...think I'll go and see him right now, okay?"

The door clanged shut, leaving Spike immersed in the brooding darkness. "Hmm...Do something bloody ridiculous...who would like it if I did something bloody ridiculous?" A grin lit the crypt. "Of course!"

*

"Is yer mum in, trouble?"

Dawn grinned. "She's in the kitchen, Spike." She pulled the door wide, allowing the bleached vampire in. 

"What about your sister?"

"Right here, Spike." Standing at the top of the stairs, one hand resting casually on the banister rail, the Slayer gazed impassively down at him. Her regal pose suddenly brought the image of her in Victorian gowns to the vampire. 

He was caught up by the idea of himself sweeping her up in his arms and ascending a grand staircase of a manor house. **That's it. I've been overdosing on 'Gone with the Wind' and Scarlet O'Hara!**

Going for the innocent look, he bound halfway up the stairs. "You look good, Slayer." Her gaze shifted to a glare. "What would you do if I told you I loved it when you glared at me, pet?"

"Probably run screaming." She replied icily, folding her arms over her chest.

The wickedly naughty glint returned o his impish blue eyes. "God, I love it when you're angry. You're just so bloody sexy!" Taking a further step up to the exasperated Slayer, he added. "I love you, full stop."

"Can you say Eww?" Dawn muttered from the bottom of the stairs.

Buffy ignored her sister, bending close to the vampire. "You want a response to that?" Spike shrugged. Jumping lightly down to the stair above the one the vampire stood on, the Slayer smiled. "Okay." Her knee jerked up, catching the vampire firmly between the thighs and doubling him over. "How was that?"

Leaving the vampire to sink to his knees, gasping in pain, she turned and ran up the stairs, disappearing into her room. The door slammed violently behind her, a click following as she locked it.

Finally limping down the stairs, he leaned on Dawn's shoulder. Giving him a sympathetic grin, she queried. "You still wanting to see mom?"

"You bet." He grinned back at her, his thighs still clamped together in throbbing pain. "If I can't have the stupid, air-head Summers woman, I'll take the wiser and better-looking mother any day of the week."

"Is that my favourite flatterer I hear?" Joyce glanced over her shoulder as the pair stepped through the door.

"In the flesh." Straightening up, he moved around the island and dropped a fond, light kiss on her forehead. "And since you're obviously so concerned about little old me, I feel...touched...so touched in fact that I..." He dropped to one knee. "Have the strange urge to propose to you!"

Stifling a chuckle, Joyce fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I don't know what to say!"

Remembering the events of the previous year when he was on his knees in front of Buffy, he gazed as sincerely as he could at her, without laughing, and quoted. "Just say yes...and make me the happiest man alive...erm...undead..."

"Well, I would..." Hiding behind a dishcloth in mock-shyness, the corners of Joyce's lips twitched upwards. "But I can't...I could never marry a man who always ate all the mini-marshmallows...I'm so sorry, Spike..."

"I...I don't believe this! Is this just about the marshmallows?" By now, Dawn was giggling and Joyce was having keeping her expression innocent, as the vampire erupted into the worst case of overacting either of them had ever seen. On his knees, he grabbed her hands. "Please don't say no! I'll give them up, if it makes you happy! I swear! You can have the marshmallows and I'll stick to blood clots!"

"Eww!"

From his position of hugging Joyce around the legs, the vampire flashed a sulky glare at Dawn. "Don't mock it until you've tried it, trouble! I might be your step-dad soon enough, young lady. I'll show you what discipline really is!"

"Isn't that a little presumptuous?"

"Aren't I always?" Pressing his head against her stomach, he grinned up at the Slayer's mother. "That's what you love about me...that and the fact I actually finish my cocoa instead of just the marshmallows like some little brunette around here..."

Dawn pouted. "You just eat al the marshmallows. I never get any! You always steal them!"

On his feet in an instant, he covered the girl's mouth with his hand, a wide smile gleaming at Joyce. "Don't you believe her, honey! I never take candy from a baby!" Leering wickedly at Dawn, he winked. "Unless they deserve it."

"I'm sorry, Spike...I can't give you my answer now..." Hand over heart in a tragic gesture, she sighed. "I need time to think...this is such a big decision...marrying an undead demon wasn't fitted in my life plans til after I had married and divorced three millionaires..."

Returning to her side, he patted her hand, as Buffy walked in. "I understand, Joyce." Both kept their faces straight, ignoring the Slayer's presence. "This will be a big commitment, but I'll give you as long as you need to think about it..."

"What's going on?" Seeing her mother and the bleached vampire hand-in-hand was more than a little disturbing.

"Spike's gonna be our step-dad!" Dawn piped up, smoothly joining in on the joke.

The expression on the Slayer's face was priceless. A blend of confusion, outrage and blank blondness, her thoughts and questions were visible on her face, her lower lip caught between her teeth in thought.

The other three in the room couldn't stop themselves laughing. Dawn was the first to go, giggling like crazy. Joyce soon followed, leaning on Spike for support as tears of mirth poured down her cheeks. Spike just looked from the woman in his arms to the blonde Slayer and chuckled.

He had to admit that sometimes, these mortals could be bloody good fun.

*

"You're weird."

"You're not the first person to say that...but it doesn't make me a bad...actually, never mind that. It makes me bad. I'm evil! Grr!"

"And yet, you almost got engaged to my mom, if it hadn't been for marshmallows and remind me again, why are we running?"

Pulling his duster back from his legs, the vampire's eyes caught the Slayer's. "To save someone's life." He replied, never breaking pace, his feet pounding solidly on the dust-strewn ground.

Or at least, that's what he had planned.

Even arriving two minutes earlier than they had before, they were still too late and Spike - tired of running - decided that he really should look after the Slayer as best he could, for the first time in several days.

And still, he didn't feel any better when he crawled back to his crypt, just before the dawn. If tomorrow never came and he was stuck in this day again, he decided that he would try and resolve things, try and get them sorted out, so he could have a night peace for once.

Try.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Morning, Anya."

"It was, last time I looked at my watch." Confused, the former demon looked at the vampire who stood in front of her, looking unusually calm. "Who are you and what have you done with the normal Spike?"

Spike chuckled. "I'm me, Anya." He reassured her. "I'm just going through a calm day. I did the completely loony yesterday and suicidal the day before. I thought everyone else deserved a break from my usual charming self...but don't worry, I'm still evil and everything..."

"Oh, I'd never doubt it." Nodding, humouring him, she smiled. While he was in a good mood, she may as well take advantage of him...

"Before you ask, luv," Switching the television off, he lit a cigarette and blew a light stream of smoke from his nostrils. "I'd say wear the dark red one. If the wanker has any kind of taste, he'll be slobbering all over you all night."

The girl's eyes darkened thoughtfully. "And that's good?"

"Definitely." He nodded. "Bloody hell, it even made me want to shag you senseless, so that qualifies as a shaggadelic dress and damn it to hell! I knew I shouldn't have watched Austin Powers again."

Anya's face lit up. Throwing her arms around the vampire, she hugged him tightly, startling him. "Thank you!" She squealed, pulling her rucksack up her shoulders and racing out of the crypt, not even stopping to think about asking how he knew.

Retrieving his 'Passions' mug from the top of the sarcophagi, he finished the trickle of blood inside it and deposited it carefully on the floor.

Now, he had to go and do some serious talking with a certain important person in his unlife, to see if she would agree that he was completely and one hundred percent ready to go to the nearest funny farm.

*

"This is crazy. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I know." Staring down at his hands, he sighed. "I try and tell myself that craziness like this isn't like what me and Dru had. But I've been around the whole Scooby gang for a year and a half now...I can't help it..."

The woman looked from her bedspread to the vampire before her. "When she was involved with Angel, I told him that I thought a relationship like that was..." She searched for the words. "Wrong. He was so old and she was..."

"Just starting out." He nodded in agreement. "Another part of the craziness, but it's not just that, Joyce. It's everything." His hand moved distractedly on the plush surface of her covers. "I can see what every relationship did to her. Angel...he broke her heart and she understood. Parker...he just wanted to hurt her." Grimacing, he turned his thoughts to the commando. "I hated Soldier Boy and not just for Initiative reasons. For once she looked like she had someone kind of normal and reliable...but we were all wrong, weren't we?"

Looking up at the Slayer's mother, he smiled sadly. "I only thought I would ever love one person, then I arrive in this pathetic little town and meet someone who wasn't afraid to face me. A Slayer with the wrinklies to match the attitude...someone who could whip my arse into shape if she wanted..."

Joyce squeezed his hand gently.

"I hated her for what she did to me and Dru. Blamed her. Didn't want her to see what she meant to me. Didn't want to let her know how bloody jealous I was of every one of those damned chums of hers."

"When did it change?"

Flopping on his back, across her feet, he blew out a sigh. Staring at the ceiling, he frowned thoughtfully. "Don't know when I started feeling that way, but I always admired her. She had guts, spunk and she was a bloody good fighter...what did it matter if she was lacking in the brains department?"

"That's my daughter you're insulting." Joyce chastised gently. Despite the absence of a soul in the demon before her, she could see the turmoil he was in over his feelings. It felt like she was just talking to a confused teenager, not a vampire. 

Spike grinned wryly. "I know." Shaking his head, he turned to look at her. "The worst thing about sticking around this dump is that I've had to see everything she's been through. I know that you got the basic stuff, but being in the middle, seeing the hell she goes through...when she loves people, she does it so intensely that to lose them...it would nearly kill her, but she still goes on, for the others..."

In the hall, outside Joyce's room, a small, unnoticed figure sat on the floor, silently listening in on the conversation going on in the bedroom.

"There are nights when she's fought so bloody hard, I wish that she would just take a holiday or something. God knows, she deserves one after all the crap she's gone through...it's on nights like that I wish I could be the one to be waiting for her when she got in, to hug her and tell her that tomorrow, everything'll be better...she needs someone..."

The Slayer's mother made a small sound of agreement. "But this is Sunnydale...what are the chances of finding someone normal? Her best friend is a witch, she dated a vampire, then a fighter from a demon hunting unit...aren't there any boring, all-American idiots anymore?"

"If I could find one I trusted enough to take care of her," Spike sighed wistfully. "I would pay him to do it. If I can't take care of her and treat her like she deserves, I want someone else to do it. Superpowers not withstanding, she's still human."

A silence fell between the two, a soft whisper of wind moving through the room. Finally, Joyce spoke again. "You would find someone else for her to love, even if it meant you had to give her up, just so she could have someone? You'd be alone..."

"And I would be in exactly the same state as I'm in now." The sad smile returned to his lips. "I know there's not even the slightest chance that the Slayer would be interested in me. The whole Soulless demon thing is a no-go area, I s'pose." 

He paused, sitting up. "You know," He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "This chip...if I ever got rid of it, I wouldn't kill her. I probably couldn't anyway, but now, I wouldn't even try. The World needs a Slayer like her."

"And you do too?"

He nodded. "I won't deny it, I love having arguments with her, having her kick my arse from here to next Tuesday, having her even paying any kind of attention to me...but the number of times this world would have gone under without her...its unbelievable."

Joyce smiled. "She didn't do it all alone." She reminded him fondly, proud of her daughter, proud of her daughter's friends. "And even you have helped her a lot."

"The Scoobies are a good bunch." He agreed half-heartedly. "But don't tell anyone I said that...and you know I'll be around the help her with that as long as she doesn't stake me, but I just wish that she had someone, a proper 'someone' to share it with. Everyone needs it. For those times when friends just aren't enough."

Laughing fondly, Buffy's mother patted the peroxide vampire on the knee. "So you did actually learn something in a hundred and twenty seven years?"

"Actually," Sheepishly grinning at her, the vampire couldn't help but laugh. "I learnt that from those bloody mates of hers."

"Well," Joyce agreed diplomatically, "At least you learned something and have the good grace to think and use it."

Spike flashed a wicked grin. "Don't you let that get round, okay? it's bad enough that I'm in love with the bleedin' Slayer. I don't want word spreading that I actually think about what I've learned on odd occasions. It would shatter what remains of my bad-ass reputation." 

"Your dark secrets are completely safe with me." The vampire looked distinctly relieved and reached over to give her a peck on the cheek.

"You're a star, Joyce." He stated firmly. "A pure star." She blushed prettily, and swatted him away, amused. "You look after yourself, okay, luv? I have something I need to do...send the Slayer to Lockston in about twenty minutes, and I'll do a sweep with her from there." 

The vampire headed to the window, pausing, as the woman in the bed called softly after him. "Spike...Happy Valentine's Day."

"Same to you, luv." He replied, ducking out of the window. "Same to you."

*

"Are you sure you're ready for this?"

Lighting another candle, Willow nodded. "I think I know how to weaken it, if you can just keep it at a distance..." 

"Keep it at a distance...right...preferably without having my guts torn out or my head ripped off...I can do that..." Squatting down beside the witch, to glance at the spell books. "And the Watcher and your mate are safe?"

"They're locked up in Giles' apartment, working on a joining incantation. It's not as strong as this one, but I want to draw the main focus of its power if we are going to weaken it enough to destroy it."

The vampire could see the nervous set in the girl's slender shoulders. "You have no idea how glad I am that you all trusted me enough to do this spell." He murmured. "You're the strongest Witch I've met...dodgy spells not withstanding."

"And there was actually a compliment or two in there." Willow's smile had lost its nervous edge, her determination shining in her green eyes. "And I haven't done a dodgy spell in a long time!" She paused, thoughtful. "This'll stop anymore of these things coming after me, won't it?"

Spike nodded. "These things are tough to kill, but if a would-be meal kills one, that Witch will never be attacked again." He gave a muffled snort of laughter. "The Nyala are terrified of being beaten. They're not big on the revenge or taking chances."

"Sound like nice people to know." Mustering as much sarcasm as she could, she skim read the spells, sparing a glance for the distracted vampire.

"Whatever you say, Red." Straightening his legs, he looked around. The bitter, sulfuric scent of the demon was growing closer, tainting the clear night air. "Be ready, pet...it's almost here now."

As if on cue, the eight foot tall, scaled demon erupted from the wiry bushes, barreling towards the Wicca. Willow blanched as she laid eyes on the thing she had to weaken. Giles had told her they were human size.

*That* was not human size!

Vamped out, Spike tackled the creature, biting and clawing, as the young Witch started the incantation from the book, her voice trembling. The words seemed to blur together, a wind picking up around her, a storm with her sitting in the eye.

A flap on the creature's stomach dropped open, a mass of tentacles spasming out, groping their way towards the red head, in spite of all the vampire's best efforts to haul the demon away from her.

"Tarikina!" Softly at first, then with growing intensity and fury, the witch's voice screamed. Her hands dropped the book, stretching skywards, embracing the power of the elements. "Rayshon! Metala rayshon!"

Beyond the storm, Spike landed on the ground, thrown violently by the Nyala, but he forced himself to his knees. Only then, did he see what the Witch was doing, her eyes glowing an unearthly emerald. The wind shrieked around her, her hair dancing like flames, a ball of brilliant white light gathering between her upstretched arms.

The Nyala faltered for a moment, surveying the scene, then deciding she was worthy to be a meal, if not exceptionally dangerous, it lumbered towards her.

Over the wail of the ferocious wind, the red head's voice rose as several tentacles pushed their way to her, their hooked tips snagging her skin. As if throwing a ball, she thrust both hands towards the demon's body. 

"Rayshon!"

The blinding orb of white exploded from her palms, smashing into the demon's gaping stomach cavity, amid the writhing mass of tentacles.

A spine-chilling scream of agony erupted from the demon's miniscule mouth, its entire body blossoming in gleaming, pure white flames. The screams only ceased when the flames guttered out, a pile of hissing ash dissolving into the ground of the graveyard.

Immediately, the young Witch slumped face-first on the ground, the effort of manipulating the elements exhausting her. Spike was by her side in an instant, carefully rolling her onto her back and examining her wounds.

Several deep cuts had been inflicted by the claws that decorated the tentacles of the now-dead demon, tiny pustules of its acidic blood clinging to her flesh.

Grimacing, he pulled them off as fast as he could. Those demons were particularly brutal. Like mini-leeches, their tiny ichor sacks would fuse to their victims' skin, eating away painfully at the flesh unless they were pulled out right away.

"What's going on?" Right on time, the Slayer stumbled onto the scene, finding a battered and bloody Spike, cradling an unconscious and bloodstained Willow.

"She did a spell to help me kill a demon." The pain in the vampire's voice didn't go unnoticed by the Slayer. "She needs cleaned up, pet. Can you get her to the Watcher? He'll know how to take care of this."

"Will she be okay?"

"She should be." Spike stood, the girl lifted in his arms. Depositing her in Buffy's capable and frighteningly strong arms, he raised a shaky hand to stroke the Slayer's cheek. "We both did it for the love of you...God knows why..."

Before the blonde girl could think of an answer, or shut her slack jaw, the vampire retrieved his duster from the nearby tombstone, where he had hung it before the fight, and disappeared off into the night, a small, satisfied smile on his face.

Shifting Willow's body in her arms, she turned and headed off swiftly in the direction of the Watcher's house, to find out just what the hell had been going on without her.

*

Staggering into the crypt, cool blood ebbed from slashes on the vampire's torso, every limb aching beyond bearability. His skull felt like it had imploded, his eyes so heavy he could barely keep them open as he pushed the door shut.

Leaning against the heavy panel, his feet skidded along the floor, his body sinking without a fight to the waiting ground.

Flopping down, the vampire found himself facedown on the ground. And he found he just didn't have the energy or the willpower to move, as he dropped into unconsciousness.

*

Waking up face-first in the dirt was bad.

Waking up face-first in the dirt, feeling like he had been hit by a train, then run over by a stampeding herd of cattle, closely followed by a battalion of tanks and foot soldiers was that little bit worse.

Clawing his way across the floor, his duster fell heedlessly off his body, his hands groping for alcohol of any description. Rolling onto his back, he wriggled uncomfortably until he was sitting upright against the chilly, stone wall and looked down at his body.

His T-shirt hung in tatters. Ripping it off with the strength he had left, a whimper of pain fell from his lips. Shoulders ached. Legs ached. Head ached. Chest ached. Groin ached. Everything bloody well ached.

Or was caked with blood.

Or both.

With the shredded remains of his T-shirt, soaked with the cheapest whisky in his stash, he swept at the cuts on his torso, hissing in pain as beads of burning demon blood burst and ate into his bare skin.

Pulling the duster across the floor with his foot, he groped painfully for a cigarette, his head lolling back against the smooth stone. With a sigh of relief, he lit up and inhaled a drag, his eyes half-closed as the smoke curled into his dead lungs.

A knock at the door made him groan. He had fought, he had the crap kicked out of him and now, they were going to make him do it all over again. Fan-bleeding-tastic.

"Bugger off!"

The door swung inwards, a familiar scent sweeping through the dank crypt. Not daring to believe it, one blue eyes cracked open, then the other.

"Someone got up on the wrong side of the coffin this morning." Buffy stood, bathed in the mid-morning sunlight, a small smile on her face. Noticing the blood staining the vampire's body, she crossed the crypt and squatted down beside him, muttering a soft curse under her breath.

Spike stared at her blankly. "What are you doing here? You're not meant to be here..." He attempted to rise, only to fall back with a hiss, fresh blood oozing from the wounds on his shoulders, the nearly-healed skin splitting open again.

Snatching the rag, playing the nurse as best she could, the Slayer dabbed at the uncleaned wounds across the vampire's shoulders. "I wanted to come by and say thank you for saving Willow. She's a bit disorientated, but Giles says she should be fine."

Letting his eyes sink closed again, savouring her awkward touch against his agonised body, her former arch nemesis exhaled a small sigh of relief. "I don't know what I would have done if she kicked the bucket." He muttered. Buffy's hand stopped moving, confused. "No one to nick nail varnish off...it would've been hell."

The Slayer laughed softly, moving the rag up to his neck, her knees straddling one of his thighs as she dipped closer. She didn't know how he could have managed to walk back to the crypt with the injuries she could see now. He had sauntered off, as cocky as ever the night before, not even looking remotely harmed.

"So that's why you did it?" A slit of a blue eye glanced at her. "You fought a massive demon, just to save Willow so you could steal her make up...I don't believe that."

"Didn't ask you to." A whisper of smoke trickled passed her. "Okay, I confess, I did it because I...er...want to keep the Scoobies alive for the day I get this chip out of me head. Yeah! That's it. I'm the only one that's gonna kill any of you so I had to save Willow cos she's a Scooby and no one kills any of the Scoo..."

His ramblings cut off in the sweetest way possible, the vampire's ice blue eyes shot open in shock. Buffy drew back from him, raising a hand to touch her lips, almost smiling. "I...I kissed you." She finally said.

One eyebrow raised, Spike slowly nodded. "I noticed that too...a lapse in concentration...that's what it was, wasn't it?"

Kissing him again, she shivered. While Angel had tasted of gentle darkness and Riley had – sadly – tasted of potato and nature, Spike was sheer masculinity and restrained strength, the flavour of nicotine and alcohol sweeping her mouth, as he tentatively deepened the kiss.

Drawing back, calm hazel gazed into amazed blue. "That wasn't a lapse in concentration." She replied quietly, her lips twitching up in a smile. "I heard you talking to mom last night. I heard everything..." 

Spike's eyes fell. "Um...yeah...right..." Toying with one of the buttons on her jacket, the vampire's cheeks took on a very faint, pinkish glow. "Well..." Glancing at his watch, he forced a grin up at her. "Don't you have classes or something to go to? You don't have to stay and watch a vampire spontaneously combust from embarrassment."

"I wasn't thinking combustion from embarrassment." She murmured naughtily, her eyes dancing. There was the Slayer he had fallen for. The one who could taunt him and tease him just like that.

Brushing a light kiss over his bruised forehead, she got to her feet and retrieved her bag. "Wanna patrol tonight?"

Shrugging, he felt his mouth smile, even though he hadn't intended it to. He was in love and she had kissed him. His lips. And her lips. Their lips. If he hadn't been hurting from head to toe, he would have probably back-flipped his way around the crypt.

Stopping at the door, beams of sunlight picked up the golden highlights in her hair, as the wind ruffled gentle fingers through her loose man. "You know," She said, grinning at the dumbstruck vampire. "Mom always did like you more than Angel."

"That's cos he's a poofy great wanker."

The Slayer's eyes danced. "You know I'm going to have to beat you up for that, tonight, Spike?" Her tone suggested that beating up wasn't the only thing was going to take place and he was titillated.

"I look forward to it."

Pulling the door shut, the crypt was plunged into darkness again, leaving one very battered, blissed-out vampire sitting in a heap on the floor, smoking his cigarette and looking like every after-image of post-coital relaxation.

Tomorrow had finally come and damn, did it look like it was going to be a good one! 


End file.
